


a sudden alchemy

by LadyMerlin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad dates, Crush at First Sight, Ed Is A Hot Mess, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, More Sap Than Expected, Mutual Attraction, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Roy Is A Knight In Shining Armour, The Author Regrets Nothing, nothing bad happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Now that he doesn’t look like he’s about to have a panic attack, the man is both surprisingly attractive, and vaguely familiar.“Ed?” he asks, incredulously, confirming Ed’s suspicion that he’s met the man before.“Who wants to know?” Ed asks, crossing his arms defensively.The man sits back down and raises his own hands. “I’m Roy, from last night."Or; the one in which Roy is a Knight in Shining Armour





	a sudden alchemy

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a song called 'pornostartrek' by the USS, which is really a much nicer song than the title suggests.

The room is spinning.

Ed doesn’t know how he’s let it get so bad – he doesn’t even remember past the second? No, the third shot. Possibly the fourth? No, that’s the point – he can’t  _remember_. He isn’t even sure how he’d got to this pub. Bar? Where exactly  _is_  he?

The crappy mood lighting doesn’t help either, magnifying shadows until they eclipse almost every photon of light. Someone’s hand is on his ass, and Ed –

Ed isn’t happy about it. Isn’t enjoying it, particularly. Wants it  _off_. But his limbs aren’t cooperating. His arms feel heavy – the right one heavier than usual, and his head is  _pounding_.

“Piss,” he manages, when his own tongue stops fucking around in his mouth. Is it _his_ tongue? It doesn’t feel like his tongue. But he doesn’t think it belongs to anyone else, either. Whose tongue is it?

The hand on his ass stops squeezing for a second. “What?” comes a muffled voice from somewhere above him.

“I needta piss,” he slurs, putting as much vehemence into it as he can muster.

The hand lets go and Ed staggers, not having realised how much the other person – man? – had been holding him up. He turns around and the room swims giddily in and out of focus. It isn’t crowded but it’s not empty either, and getting through to the bathroom means Ed would have to weave in-between and around groups of people, a task which will require more coordination than he possesses at the moment.

So instead, he keeps one hand on the wooden bar table and follows it as far as he can, into the furthest corner of the long room, miraculously unimpeded by barstools. Well, luck had to favour him  _sometime_. It’s statistically  _inevitable_.

He knocks on the bar top with as much precision as he can manage, and then does it again because he isn’t sure he’d managed it the first time with his bum hand.

“Yes?” comes an arch voice, towering somewhere above him.

Ed tries to take a step back so that he can make eye contact without breaking his neck, but ends up tripping on his own shoelace, and almost breaking his neck anyway.

“ _Jesus_ ,” the voice swears and a hand –  _god_ , not another one – yanks him forward with the front of his shirt, giving him just enough of a pull to regain his footing.

“I need help,” Ed says, but his tongue is thick and his own words are ringing in his head so loud that he isn’t sure he’s even said them out loud. Maybe he’s just thinking really loud. Everything is really  _fucking_  loud. “I need help,  _please_ ,” he tries again.

The hand fisted in his shirt eases its grip, and the voice swears again, but it sounds different this time.

“I don’t remember how I got here and I want to go home.” Ed really hopes the ‘ _please call me a cab_ ’ is implicit, because the thought is there but he can’t make the words happen; nothing is cooperating with him.

“Alright,” the voice booms and the hand lets go of him entirely. Ed staggers again, totally imbalanced. “Come with me,” it continues – the voice, not the hand – and Ed feels himself being guided gently in another direction. A door opens and suddenly everything is a lot brighter, like they’d finally turned the fucking lights on and cleared the smoke straight out of his head.

It doesn’t take much pressure on his shoulders for Ed to sit down on a soft surface – a couch, probably. It’s nice, so he leans back and closes his eyes. The brightness is all well and good but it’s beginning to feel like needles in his eyes.

“Hey,  _hey_ ,” the person – the man says, snapping sharply in front of his face until Ed has no choice but to open his eyes. “Drink this,” the man orders, pressing a cup into Ed’s left hand. It looks like water and the condensation on the outside of the glass feels really nice against Ed’s palm. He looks away from the glass and back up at the blob that’s slowly taking the shape of a man with dark hair and really pretty eyes. Ed blinks.

“Shit,” the man swears and takes the glass back from him, taking a sip out of it before handing it back to Ed. “It’s just water, I promise.”

Which is something Ed should probably have been concerned about, if he’d had the presence of mind to even consider it. He only intends to take a sip but he realises just how fucking thirsty he is the second the water touches his lips, and he downs the glass in one long pull.

“Want another glass?” the man asks, but Ed shakes his head. The liquid is already sloshing around in his stomach and he feels better now than he did before, but still not great.

“ _Thanks_ ,” he says finally, a long moment later. Better to be polite, he supposes. When in doubt, channel Al.

“Don’t worry about it. Do you live alone?” the man asks, and then seems to realise how that sounded. “No, wait, don’t answer that, sorry. What I meant to ask was, is there anyone I can call for you?”

“Al’s out of town,” Ed provides helpfully, squinting at the man. His features are beginning to rearrange themselves in a vaguely attractive fashion and Ed is _intrigued_. He wonders if this is what they call ‘ _beer goggles_ ’, because he can’t remember the last time he found someone so appealing.

“Okay, _right_. What’s your name?”

“I’m Ed,” Ed replies, forcing himself to be still in the hope that the room will take pity on him and stop spinning.

“Do you have a phone?” the man asks, holding out his hand. Ed nods sagely and puts his own hand into the man’s palm. Of  _course_ _,_  he has a phone – it’s the twenty first century for fucks’ sake, who  _doesn’t_  have a phone? The man’s fingers are warm and dry, and Ed lets himself touch them, just to feel his callouses against his own skin. “Okay, right, Ed, you’ve got two options. I can call you a cab to drive you home, or you can stay here and sleep this off. Which would you prefer?”

Well, that’s easy. “I’ve got to get home. Al would worry if I didn’t.” He can see the man processing his reply.

“Can I borrow your phone for a bit?” he asks, after a beat of silence.

“Yeah, sure,” Ed replies, feeling really, unusually peaceable. He doesn’t feel the urge to snap at  _anyone_ , let alone this nice, possibly-handsome man. He struggles to get his phone out of his pocket, grumbling at Al for buying him such tight pants, and unlocks it before passing it to the man. “What’s your name?” he asks finally, because he can’t keep calling him ‘the man’.

“I’m Roy. I’m going to call Al now, okay?”

Ed beams at him. Calling Al is always good in his book.

“Hello?” Roy says.

“Hello,” Ed replies, but that’s strange, they’d already been speaking. Why would Roy greet him again?

“Hi, is this Al?” Oh  _right,_  he’s on the  _phone_. “Hi. My name is Roy, I’m calling from Madame Christmas’ bar in Central City. Yes, Ed is with me, but I think his drink’s been spiked, or he’s maybe had a bit too much to drink. I’ve given him some water but he’s not really coherent right now. No, I don’t mind if he stays here but he seems to want to go home. I can drive him myself, but I don’t have an address. Sure, I’ll pass him the phone.”

Ed accepts his mobile phone and grins into the receiver. “Al!”

“ _Brother_ ,” comes Al’s worried voice, “ _are you alright?_ ”

“I’m okay now, I think. I wasn’t having a good time before. Earlier. I don’t think Greg’s a nice person, Al.”

“ _No brother, I don’t think he is either. Ed, I’m going to give Mr Roy our address. Do you have your keys?_ ”

“Yes, of course I do! I never go out anywhere without them!”

“ _Except that time you got locked in the garden without your pants because—_ ”

“Oh my god, Al, I was  _six_ ,” Ed replies, which is, of course, their coded reply to let Al know that he’s unharmed, for the most part.

Al sighs deeply and then, “ _please call me when you’re home, Brother._ ”

“Will do. Love you, Al.”

Al sighs again, and he sounds so upset that Ed feels guilty. “ _Love you too, even though I can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Now pass the phone back to Mr Roy._ ”

Ed passes it back to Roy, obedient for possibly the first time in his life.

“Right,” Roy says after a pause, “the street after the steel factory, house number 310, I won’t forget.” He hangs up and passes the phone back to Ed, who slips it back into his pocket with only a bit of a struggle. “Alright Ed, ready to go home?”

Ed nods. “Sorry, where are we?” he asks, when the finally question occurs to him.

Roy looks up from patting his pockets – checking for something? - and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He huffs, but doesn’t sound particularly amused. “You’re in the staff room at the back of my bar. We’re near the University Library in Central City. Give me a minute, I’ll let someone know I’m stepping out.” Ed nods again but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Roy isn’t there to see it.

Though, he’s only gone for a minute before he pops back into the room and hands Ed a scarf. It’s incredibly soft to the touch and Ed only resists for a split second before burying his face in it. It smells really,  _really_  nice, like laundry soap and sunshine and something his mom used to put in apple pie?

“That’s not how you wear a scarf, darling,” comes Roy’s voice from somewhere beyond his cocoon. He feels the fabric being pulled away from his face and he whines in protest. “Let’s go, Ed,” Roy says, and wraps the scarf around Ed’s neck, tucking the ends neatly into the front of his jacket. Ed snuggles into the warmth of it, like a turtle retreating back into its shell.

“Pie,” Ed says, because the scarf really does smell overwhelmingly like  _something_  so familiar…

“Cinnamon,” Roy answers his unasked question. “The scarf? It smells like cinnamon. My best friend’s wife bakes apple pies with cinnamon and they’re the best thing in the world.”

Roy skips down a handful of steps before he realises that he’s left Ed behind, staring down the staircase like it’s a treacherous canyon. Roy turns and comes back up the stairs, two at a time, almost too quickly for Ed’s befuddled mind to process. His hand is warm around Ed’s shoulders, even through all the layers of fabric. “One step at a time, yeah?”

“I would like to not break my neck,” Ed says in agreement. “Thanks. I’m really super out of it right now,” Ed continues, because his brain just wants to talk and there’s clearly no one else at home to stop him from doing it. Even the admission that he’s not at a hundred per-cent is itself evidence that, well. Ed’s  _really_  out of it. But Roy wouldn’t know this, right? Since this is the first time he’s ever met Ed. “I’m not normally like this,” he says,  _mortifyingly_.

Roy huffs again, pushing open a dark wooden door and letting them out of the building. The cold outside is like a slap in the face and Ed’s churning stomach instantly settles. Roy leads Ed into a small garage between the bar and the next building. There’s a nice car in there, a low sedan of sorts, not a brand Ed can identify at a glance. He instantly discards his attempts to figure out what type of car he’s in when Roy opens the door and hustles him in, leaning in afterward to buckle his seatbelt. Roy’s so close to him that Ed can’t help but gasp, and press himself back into the seat so that Roy can see what he’s doing. “Need a bag?” he asks, but Ed shakes his head. He’s not feeling nauseas, miraculously.

When Roy turns the key in the ignition, some sort of gentle music comes on, something light and tinkly with a piano in the background. The last thing Ed remembers is Roy telling him to sleep, if he wants. He’s pretty tired, so he doesn’t think twice about it.

-

When Ed wakes up, he instantly recognizes Al’s bed. He sleeps in it often enough when Al is out of town. He sits bolt upright and regrets it immediately, because his head  _pounds_  like it’s about to fall right off his neck. He doesn’t remember how he got this hangover. He doesn’t remember how he even got home last night. The last thing he remembers is… someone’s car?  _Shit_.

He’s still dressed though, so it’s unlikely that he’d made any truly  _terrible_  decisions. He rolls out of bed and stumbles into his own room. His books and papers are all in place, and his mountains of unfolded ( _clean_ ) laundry are undisturbed.

He can’t find his wallet though. Even though he doesn’t keep much cash on him, there’s an old bat who works at the university library who’d only be too glad to keep him out because he doesn’t have his student ID. He looks around his room for a bit, trying to move as little as possible, before figuring he might have left it somewhere near the front door to avoid just this scenario.

True enough, the leather fold is on the small table near the front door, with a folded piece of paper pinned beneath it.

 _Ed_ , it reads.

_You might not remember, but I brought you home from Madame Christmas’ bar last night. You fell asleep in my car and were pretty out of it when I brought you in. I’ve used your keys to lock the door from outside, and the keys are underneath the big plant pot on the right. I plugged your phone in to charge on the kitchen counter._

_I understand that you’re alone at home for the next few weeks. You were in really bad shape last night, so please call me if you need help, or if there’s anything I can do for you. My number’s at the bottom._

_Please call Al._

_Roy Mustang_

The last line is the only one that makes sense. His head is still pounding but this might be the most bizarre morning-after he’s ever had. Who the hell is  _Roy_? He doesn’t even remember going to Madame Christmas’ bar, and he definitely doesn’t remember someone driving him home. The only thing he  _can_ do now, is to call Al.

Al is… frantic, if the tone of his voice is anything to go by.

“ _Are you alright, Brother?_ ” he asks, sounding oddly metallic over the phone.

“I’ve got a hangover from hell but I think I’m okay, Al.” It’s his first time actually speaking since he woke up, and he just _knows_ he sounds like death warmed over.

“ _Oh god, Brother, I was so worried!_ ”

“I’m sorry Al, I honestly don’t know what happened. Can you fill me in?”

Ed quietly listens to Al’s version of events, and none of it rings any bells, except maybe the sensation of falling asleep in a moving car, and the faintest memory of being tucked into bed. “I know, Al. I’m sorry. I went out for a drink with Greg. I’ve been out with him before, y’know? I thought it’d be okay.”

“ _It’s not your fault, Brother,_ ” Al says softly, and Ed knows that Al’s right, but he can’t help but feel stupid. And also stupidly grateful to the random stranger who’d been so kind to him, whom he couldn’t even remember. “ _I’m just glad Mr Roy got you home_.”

“Fuck, me too. I think I asked him for help? I’m not sure, I just know I was really confused and not feeling well.” It’s the first time in, well. In a very long time that Ed remembers admitting to being anything other than ‘fine’. He can’t remember when’s the last time he asked for help. At times like this, he’s pretty grateful for his own animal brain.

“ _I’m coming home_ ,” Al says, interrupting his thoughts.

“No!” Ed says, and his own voice is too loud for his poor, aching head. “ _No_ , Al. Stay. Finish your module. It’s important. Besides, I’m fine now.”

“ _Brother_ ,” Al starts, but Ed doesn’t let him finish.

“Listen Al, I love you. I know you love me. But you can’t let my shit – you can’t let _me_ get in the way of your life. I’ll be careful, okay? I’ll get something to eat, go see a doctor, and spend the day in the library, I promise.”

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Al asks, and Ed can hear it in his voice. He wants to finish his module in the Great University of Xing, but if Ed even made the slightest indication, he’d be on the next train back to Central City.

“Cross my heart. I’m going to be fine.”

And he will be, as soon as he gets some paracetamol into him, and maybe some breakfast. The way things are going, he’s going to swear off dating for life. Nothing is worth feeling like this.

True enough, a few of strips of extremely salty bacon and four fried eggs make him feel almost like himself again, washed down with some _bitchin’_ black coffee. The headache eases and he’s actually looking forward to spending a peaceful day at the library. He’ll be safe there. No book ever attacked him like this, not even when he fell asleep and dropped it on his own face.

He finds a study desk and stays there, hidden in a corner until his stomach reminds him that it’s well past lunch time. There’s a café on the first floor of the library, but it’s always horrendously expensive, and the portions are so small that they make Ed _angry_. Eventually Ed decides to go to a hole-in-the-wall Cretan restaurant three streets away, which hasn’t failed his tastebuds yet.

The restaurant is almost deserted, which is how Ed prefers it to be. The waitress grins at him in recognition, but doesn’t engage in meaningless conversation, which is also what Ed prefers. She knows what he’ll have, so she doesn’t even bother bringing him the menu when he heads towards his usual booth near the back window.

Surprisingly though, it’s occupied by a man with black hair, fast asleep on the table. There’s a plate of steaming fried rice sitting beside his head, but even its tantalising scent doesn’t seem to have roused him. Which is somewhat concerning, because honestly Ed hasn’t had the opportunity to test this, but he thinks the smell of good fried rice could probably wake _him_ from a coma.

He doesn’t normally do this – he’s a firm believer in minding his own business – but something about his own close call, and the way a stranger had saved his ass the night before gets to him. He steps closer towards the sleeping man and puts a hand on his shoulder, gently, just to shake him a bit. “Hey, dude. You alright?”

Ed had half-expected to be cussed out, and he’d done it anyway, but nothing could have prepared him for the way the man bolts upright, eyes wide open and half-way to his feet. Ed steps back instinctively, hands coming up in the air to show that he means no harm. “Sorry,” he says anyway, keeping his distance, just to be safe.

But the man is already calming down, and now that he doesn’t look like he’s about to have a panic attack, he’s both surprisingly attractive, and vaguely familiar.

“ _Ed?_ ” he asks, incredulously, confirming Ed’s suspicion that he’s met the man before.

“Who wants to know?” Ed asks, crossing his arms defensively. Because it _is_ a little disconcerting that Ed doesn’t have a single clue who this man is, when it’s clear as day that he knows who Ed is, without a shadow of doubt.

The man sits back down and raises his own hands. “I’m Roy, from last night. This morning,” he corrects himself. “I left a note beneath your wallet.”

Everything in Ed curls up in a rush of humiliation and shame. Fucking of _course_ he’d snap at the guy who’d stepped in to – not _rescue_ , but – help him when he needed it. Of _course_ he’d come across like an asshole, even when he really didn’t want to. “Thank you,” he manages to say, more than a little awkwardly. “For yesterday,” he adds stupidly, because what else could he have been thanking him for, oh _god_.

Roy doesn’t seem to notice Ed’s awkwardness, or if he does, he doesn’t call attention to it. Instead he just grins at Ed, tiny wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you’re alright. I was really worried.”

Ed’s heart stutters, a bit. He nods, because he really doesn’t know what else to say. “Sorry for waking you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Roy shakes his head, dismissing Ed’s apology off-hand. “Please, why don’t you have a seat. Have you eaten?” he asks.

Ed doesn’t – he doesn’t do this. He’s never shared a table with a stranger in his entire life, not even in a food court. He slides into the booth and sits down, pulling his right leg up onto the seat. “I had breakfast,” he says, “but I got distracted in the library. Only just realised I’d missed lunch.”

The waitress comes by with a plate of fried noodles for Ed, and they smell so good that he almost doesn’t notice her winking at Roy - _almost_. Well, it figures. Someone as attractive as Roy wouldn’t be single, even if he was interested in men. Ed’s not even sure where this line of thought came from, but now it’s there in his head, well.

He turns to look at Roy, who’s rolling his eyes at the waitress. And _that_ seems out of character. When Roy looks at him, he must see the question on Ed’s face; he’s never been very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. He laughs, “sorry. My sister likes to make my life difficult, sometimes.”

Something in Ed thaws and he cracks his own grin. “My brother’s an angel. I can’t sympathise.” Roy laughs, and suddenly everything becomes easy. “The food here is great, though. Much better than the shitty café in the university library.”

“I’ll be sure to let my sister know. She’s usually the chef, but she does the waitressing when it’s off hours. I’m a little impressed that you were at the library, though. I thought you’d take the day off to recover.”

Ed watches the man carefully, to see if there’s any hint of condescension or judgment, but he finds none. He shrugs. “I’ve never done well with wallowing, and I have a paper due.”

Roy sits up a little straighter. “Postgrad?”

Ed shakes his head. “I’m a doctoral student.” This is the point at which people start calling him an egghead. He braces himself.

Instead, Roy’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Does that mean that one day I can call you Doctor Edward?” Ed smiles ruefully and doesn’t say that he already can; he’s working on his _second_ doctorate. “What are you working on?”

“It’s a bit theoretical at this stage, but I’m trying to figure out a way to reverse chimera transmutations.”

There are only three types of people in the world; people who know what this means and disapprove, people who don’t know what this means, and people like Roy, whose faces light up with tremulous hope, because they understand the implications of Ed’s research. People like Roy, whose faces also freeze in fear at the realisation that there are plenty of people out there who would do anything to stop Ed from solving this problem; people who have a stake in ensuring that once created, chimeras can never be saved.

“That’s pretty incredible,” Roy says honestly, and Ed can’t control the flush that lights up his cheeks, and he probably looks like a cooked lobster but Roy doesn’t seem to even notice. “No, really. I’ve-” he starts, and then stops, like there’s something he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. Ed hasn’t known the man for very long, but some instinct tells him that speechlessness is not a natural state for Roy. “One of my colleagues—” he tries again, and Ed gets it. Telling people about his thesis subject regularly leads to them sharing their own experiences with chimeras, and almost all of them are painful.

Ed, who’s never been very tactful about these things, tries to put the man out of his misery. “Yeah,” he manages to say, and hopes that it conveys everything – that he’s sorry, that he understands, that things will eventually get better.

Roy seems to get it, thankfully. There’s a moment in which Ed gets distracted, studying Roy’s face; the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the slightest hint of a dimple in his cheek. None of this helps with the lobster-face situation.

To save himself further humiliation, Ed turns to his plate of noodles, now cool enough to eat. Roy turns to his own plate without another word, but the silence is comfortable, and not strained at all.

“What about you?” he eventually asks, once the rumbling in his stomach has subsided. “What do you do?”

“My friends would tell you I don’t do much,” Roy starts with a flash of a smile that’s really infuriatingly attractive, “but I run a bar. It used to be my aunt’s bar but she retired a couple of years ago. City got too gentrified for her tastes.” There’s nothing but affection in Roy’s tone, but something about the words –

“She sounds like an interesting woman. Al’s fiancé? She says the same thing, and she’s fucking terrifying.”

“Al’s fiancé?” Roy parrots, like it’s a question.

“Yeah?” because if it _is_ a question, it’s an odd one. Roy had definitely spoken with Al the night before. “My brother? The one you spoke to on the phone?”

Something in Roy’s face brightens even further. “He’s your _brother,_ ” he whispers,

Ed blinks before something dawns on him, and it tastes a lot like _horror_. “Did you think—” he starts, but the slightest wince on Roy’s face gives away that that’s _exactly_ what he’d thought. “Oh, _gross_ , he’s my baby brother!”

Roy coughs but it turns into a laugh half-way through, and grows until it takes over his face and he’s practically glowing with mirth, his eyes crinkling and his teeth pearly white between pink lips. It’s enchanting and utterly disarming, and Ed wants to see Roy laugh for _ever_. The thought gets past his mental filters before he can stamp down on it, and once it’s there, he can’t kill it; he’s never wanted to make someone laugh like this before, except for Al. Ed _loves_ Al.

When Roy finally stops laughing, Ed realises he’s grinning at the man across the table like he’s – like he’s got two brain cells left and they’re both clamouring for Roy’s attention. Roy’s own grin softens into something a little less bright, something softer and warmer, until they’re both studying each other in silence. It _should’ve_ been awkward, but it isn’t. Ed doesn’t even want to go back to the library now, and that’s a first.

“Well, it’s not my fault for assuming, is it?” Roy teases. “It’s not like I know you very well, or at all.”

And for the first time in a long time, something in Ed’s life goes right, and he gets the line out without tripping on his tongue. “We can try to change that, if you like.” He holds his breath.

Roy looks like he’s just been hit in the head with something heavy, and cold water floods his lungs; humiliation, because of _course_. Why would Roy be interested in someone like him? Ed’s a hot _mess_. “Are you serious?” Roy asks and Ed flinches. What had he been _thinking_? “No, no,” Roy says, and now _he’s_ tripping on his tongue. “Are you serious? Because I’d definitely – I’d like that a lot,” he says, hands reaching out for Ed and then stilling, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.

“Really?” Ed asks, because he’s an _idiot_.

“Yes,” Roy replies, without a single flicker of hesitation. “Absolutely. If you’re sure.”

Ed can feel his own face scrunching up, eyebrows creasing in a way he knows Al hates. Roy looks a little dumbstruck, and Ed’s not sure he understands why, but it’s a nice look for him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Roy looks like he’s about to respond, opens his mouth, and then stops. “Let’s talk about this over dinner?”

And it’s not like Ed’s going to disagree. “Tonight?” he asks, before realising how desperate that makes him sound, _ugh_.

Roy beams at him again and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that looks stupidly attractive. “Do you mind going for supper instead? I have to show up for a bit when the bar opens, but I can leave once all my staff are in. My second-in-command would probably be glad to be rid of me, for a bit.”

“That,” Ed says, pointing at the man with a fork, “sounds like something a lazy bastard would say.”

Roy laughs out loud. “See?” he asks, “we’re already getting to know each other.”

Ed hasn’t even realised how widely he’s been smiling until it dims and he feels the slight ache in his cheeks. “Hopefully you won’t regret that.”

Roy shakes his head and finally reaches out, putting his hand on the table just close enough to Ed’s hands for their fingertips to touch. There’s an odd-looking scar on the back of his hand but Ed doesn’t stare; he knows how much _he_ hates it when people stare at his leg. Instead he focuses on the warmth of Roy’s skin so close to his own.

“I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson about regretting the things that I do. I won’t regret this, no matter how it goes.”

Something in Ed _wants_ to trust Roy, and so he does. Al’s always going on about trusting his gut, so he just nods and meets Roy half-way, brushing their fingers together with intent. When he looks up at Roy as subtly as he can, through his lashes, the only word he can use to describe the look on Roy’s face is ‘smitten’.

His belly churns and it doesn’t make sense that he’s only known Roy for less than a day, now. Nor does the sizzling attraction deep in his gut.

The restaurant phone rings and it breaks them both of out the warm haze that’s enveloped their booth, and Ed thinks he can see a blush rising even in Roy’s cheeks.

“Alright. Pick a place with good food.” His plate is empty now but he doesn’t want the conversation to end; he’s not ready to leave this restaurant, even knowing that he’s going to be seeing Roy in just a couple of hours.

Roy doesn’t say anything, and instead laces their fingers together, squeezing Ed’s fingers between his own, and it’s such an intimate gesture that Ed can feel his face heating up, no doubt going red again. He has to get out before he explodes, so he squeezes back, because he wants to, and then snatches his hand back, slaps enough notes on the table to cover their meals, and flees.

When he’s near the door he realises that Roy doesn’t have his number, so he turns as he’s pushing the door open. “I’ll text you!” he calls, only to see Roy pressing his hands to his cheeks, grinning down at the table. He looks up to acknowledge Ed’s statement, and smiles in a way that sends heat sparking down Ed’s spine, even as he’s stumbling out the front door.

Al’s never going to believe this.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning up til the point Roy fishes Ed out of a dodgy situation is based on rl, because I too, have shit luck. However unlike Ed, I don’t live in a rom-com, so I’m not dating any chivalrous bartenders (yet). 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i am but a poor anxious author; kudos/comments feed my muse
> 
> psssst, hey, _hey_ , this fic now has a sequel: [shooting star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18545266), check it out!


End file.
